Fronto examined the Remi and their town of Durocorteron. While Caesar and most of his staff officers marched on, their eyes straight ahead and their sight locked on a future of Roman domination with their own arses firmly planted in the curia in Rome, Fronto could see past his own career progression. For Caesar and his cronies to secure their future, all they required was a conquest, but Fronto’s thoughts went deeper than that.
He doubted the general had devoted a moment’s thought to what would happen to Gaul once he’d had his triumph and climbed to the top of the ladder. If Caesar could actually pacify Gaul, would he set about its Romanisation? Would he care? And, of course, would it work? Cisalpine Gaul has been a province of Rome for a century and a half and was, in truth, as Roman as his homeland around Puteoli. Africa, on the other hand, had never truly settled since the days of Carthage, with occasional uprisings that kept the governor on his toes.
No matter how much the Belgae might think of themselves as a separate people to the Gauls, Fronto could see just how similar they were as he met the defiant gazes of the men and women in the gardens and doorways of the houses they passed.
Their clothing and armour appeared to be the same, their hair braided the same way; the language in which they exchanged comments about their visitors was, to Fronto’s ear, identical to those of the Helvetii and the Aedui, and very similar even to the Ariovistus’ Germans, if less guttural. As his gaze swept across Durocorteron itself, he realised that even their towns were the same; their oppida. The houses were constructed in the same fashion, the lower courses of heavy local stone, with a timber upper. The towns were organised in much the same layout.
He smiled to himself. If there was one thing that Rome could learn from the Gauls it was trees. Roman cities were well organised and efficient. Everything was built to a pattern that kept the streets clean and clear of traffic. Paved roads and gutters; side streets, kerbs and rings for tying horses; the front doors of blocks of housing opening onto the roads. But there were no trees. Flowers and trees were planned in Roman cities, restricted to parks and gardens in set and usually private enclosures.
But there was something about striding up this packed-earth street. It was probably horrible in rainy winter time, but the houses were all set back with a well maintained garden fronting the road and a small path. Trees gave the road shelter and kept him cool.
If Gaul could be Romanised, he mused, it might be a nice province to retire to one day.
He became aware that Crispus was staring at him with his eyebrow raised.
“Just taking it all in. Know your enemy, eh?”
The young legate gave him a light, unconvinced, smile.
“Whatever you say, Marcus. Pretty gardens though, aren’t they?”
Fronto rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze to the front once more. They were almost at the top of the hill; the long, sloping road stretching back behind them to the bridge and the Roman camps, now obscured by the branches of the trees.
As Caesar’s guard reached the open space at the centre of the oppidum, Ingenuus gave orders and they fanned out into a protective cordon. Caesar and the staff strode into the centre and came to a halt. Clearly, the arrival of the Roman party at the bridge and their march up the street had been enough to draw the leaders of the Remi from their houses. Two men, whom Fronto would be willing to bet were the two riders from last night, stood with their arms folded opposite the Romans, their warriors armed and armoured behind and beside them. For a moment, Fronto wondered whether he’d gone too far last night and turned the Remi against them. He briefly considered trying to become less visible in case of reprisals, but quickly chastised himself. These people had no idea who he was and they certainly wouldn’t recognise him, given the low torch light last night.
His fears were allayed as the two men bowed deeply and Caesar nodded respectfully in return.
“My apologies for being unable to find time to greet you yesterday. I’m sure you understand that an army this size requires a great deal of control and administration.”
Masterful, Fronto smiled to himself. In one stroke he just made a conciliatory gesture, while reminding them of the enormous power of Rome and the very present danger of a huge Roman army across the river.
The two men exchanged words briefly before one of them stepped to the side and gestured to a large building. Essentially a long single-floored hall, constructed in the same manner as the other structures with a thatched roof and several windows, the building was clearly important. Perhaps the house of a chieftain, or some Belgic version of the curia?
Caesar nodded. Before he could step forward and enter, however, Ingenuus and two of his men strode ahead and walked in, giving the interior a quick check before the general arrived. The other senior officers followed on.
The interior of the hall was quite dim, though the windows let in enough light that the eyes would soon adjust. In the centre, a sizeable fire burned in a carefully-constructed stone-lined pit, while the column of smoke rose up and disappeared through a small round hole in the roof. At one end of the hall stood a large and impressive chair, carved from oak with dragons and wolves and boars. Behind it, the wall was covered with cured animal pelts, weapons and shields. Warriors stood around the periphery, armed, but with weapons sheathed. Fronto experienced a moment of doubt. Even with Ingenuus’ men at the ready, it would be reasonably easy to murder the entire Roman command here.
Fronto found that he had his jaw clamped tightly shut and was carefully examining every warrior. He forced himself to relax. The truth was that they could have been killed just as easily in the main square. Caesar was sure of the Remi; if he hadn’t been, they wouldn’t have come and, whatever misgivings he might have about the general, lack of forethought was not one of his greater flaws.
Ignoring the chieftain’s seat, the two Belgae leaders walked across to the fire and warmed their hands over the flames while servants brought benches in and placed them centrally in the hall around the fire pit. Fronto nodded to himself. The Remi chieftains were being very careful to show their deference to Caesar, even abandoning the symbol of their tribal power, the throne, in order to meet the general on a level. Without a word, the two men sat on one of the benches and gestured to Caesar, who nodded and turned to his companions.
“Gentlemen? Let’s sit and get on with this.”
As the Roman officers joined them by the fire and took their seat, Ingenuus and his men filed around behind them, echoing the stance of the warriors at the far side.
“My name is Antebrogius” announced the shorter of the two men. “This is Iccius. We are two of the eleven Remi chiefs. Iccius does not speak Latin, but he is the chief of an oppidum on the border close to the Nervii and has brought me the latest and best information about the gathering army. I rule here in Durocorteron and am the only Remi chief who can speak your language.”
Caesar nodded.
“Indeed, you speak it very well. May I ask where you learned?”
The chief shrugged.
“I make it my business to learn about the more dangerous peoples in the world. I also speak the language of the Germanic tribes and that of the Greeks.”
Caesar smiled, clearly genuinely impressed. Fronto sat and grumbled under his breath. He spoke Latin well enough, but his tutor had despaired of his deplorable Greek.
“Very well,” Antebrogius continued, “I have been authorised to speak on behalf of all the chiefs of the Remi in this matter. All of the Belgic peoples have been concerned since last year that the armies of Rome are coming close to our lands. Our druids rally the tribes in defiance of you, general. They call on all of the Belgae and of the Gauls, the Germans and the Britons to come to their aid in opposing you and everything you stand for.”